I staggered to a tree gulping in the chilling night air. My leg muscles burned like fire from running. Running from what I realized could possibly be my end. Running straight into the forest and not looking back. That "thing," if you could even call it that, was not the person I had come to call a friend, no... it was just a shell of who it once used to be… Pale skin, ink black eyes that pore liquid death, a knife dripping with an unknown substance, and a violent twitch every few seconds… Everything about the shell screamed of hopelessness and death… That knife… why she was holding it, how I got into this mess, why her best friend told me something wasn’t right… I’ll never know.
In this world I may have met my end, but something tells me that somewhere else, in a different time and a different place, I lived. Maybe none of this happened at all.
Maybe this is just a horrible d